#Lessons in Magic and Disaster

[lgbtqreads]

Happy Trans Day of Visibility 2025!

Children’s Just Like Queen Esther by Ari Moffic and Kerry Olitzky (text) and Rena Yehuda Newman (illustration) Atara loves to wear her crown – to the library, to the dentist, even to her swim lessons. It gives her confidence, and shows the world that she is a girl, not a boy, like everyone thought at first. But when Atara reads the story of Queen Esther, on the Jewish holiday of Purim – she…

[cressidagrey]

Lessons in Math (and Humility)

Welcome to Mysterious Mrs Piastri's Mondays. Apparently this is a thing now. (Ever since I hear that interview where Kimi was asked which subjects he's scared off an the answer was Math, I knew I was gonna write this.)

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Kimi Antonelli thought he could handle anything — race cars, pressure, a wet track…but his math homework may destroy him. Enter Bee Piastri. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Kimi Antonelli didn’t ask for help lightly.

Especially not with math.

He was a racing driver, not an idiot. He could handle telemetry, fuel loads, braking calculations, tyre degradation graphs — all of it — without blinking. He’d memorized braking points at Spa, figured out fuel maps on the fly, and survived radio calls with engineers who thought “you’re fine” covered every possible scenario.

He was good at numbers. At racing numbers.

But this assignment?

This nightmare of partial derivatives and matrix transformations?

It stared at him from his tablet like a personal attack, every line of notation a new insult to his intelligence.

After twenty minutes of glaring at it — tapping his pen, checking his notes, checking them again as if they might have magically rewritten themselves — Kimi finally let out a groan of pure, unfiltered despair.

He flopped face-first onto the hospitality couch, tablet slipping from his hands onto the seat beside him.

Without lifting his head, he announced, voice muffled against the cushions: “I’m going to fail math and bring shame to the entire grid.”

The nearest breathing human — unfortunately — was Ollie Bearman, who looked up from where he was very happily slurping a suspiciously neon smoothie.

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “What’s the problem?”

Kimi lifted one arm limply and waved the tablet in the air like a white flag of surrender.

“This. Derivatives. Partial equations. I don’t know. Numbers are evil.”

Ollie blinked once. Then grinned — the kind of grin that meant he was enjoying Kimi’s suffering way too much.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Arthur Leclerc almost failed stats back in F3.”

Kimi turned his head enough to squint at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Like, barely passed.”

Kimi perked up slightly, seizing onto the news like a lifeline. If Arthur — who had a literal racing dynasty backing him — struggled, maybe there was hope for the rest of them.

“How’d he survive?” Kimi asked, sitting up slightly.

Ollie’s grin widened.

“Oscar.”

Kimi stared at him. “Piastri?”

“Yep. Quiet nerd back at Prema. Absolute lifesaver. Helped Arthur cram for finals and everything.”

Kimi narrowed his eyes. He thought about Oscar: quiet, steady, terrifyingly good at everything he touched, like someone had programmed him in a lab.

Of course Oscar would have hidden superpowers. Of course.

Kimi hesitated, pride warring with desperation.

And then sighed dramatically, letting his head thunk back against the couch.

“Fine,” he said. “Find me Piastri. I have no pride left.”

Which was how, ten minutes later, they ended up with Oscar Piastri sitting cross-legged in the McLaren motorhome, frowning deeply at Kimi’s tablet like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Oscar muttered, squinting, “it’s not impossible. It’s just badly worded.”

Kimi leaned forward, full of hope — desperate, grasping hope.

Maybe this would be fine. Maybe Oscar Piastri — quiet, unflappable, secret nerd of Prema lore — could fix this disaster.

Five minutes later, that hope was dead.

Oscar exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be honest with you, mate: I have no idea what they’re asking for.”

Kimi flailed, waving his hands like he could physically summon better news. “But you saved Arthur! You’re the math guy!”

Oscar held up a hand, grimacing. “That was basic stats, Kimi. You know, averages. Standard deviations. This—” he pointed at the tablet like it might bite him, “—this is multivariable calculus meets actual sadism.”

Ollie Bearman, who had been perched nearby pretending not to watch the trainwreck unfold, snorted into his water bottle.

Oscar sighed again, this time reaching for his phone.

“No—” Kimi said, panicked, feeling his dignity slipping further into the abyss. “Don’t call someone. Don’t bother anyone. I’ll just fail and move to a cabin in the woods, it’s fine—”

Oscar was already dialing.

“Relax,” he said, calm as anything. “Felicity’s here. She likes this stuff.”

Five minutes later, Felicity Piastri wandered into the motorhome.

Kimi had seen her around the paddock plenty of times over the last year.

The first two things he’d learned about Oscar’s wife were simple:

1. She was tiny and startlingly pretty — the kind of pretty that could probably kill a man if she wanted to.

2. If Felicity Piastri was somewhere, Bee Piastri, Oscar’s terrifyingly adorable four-year-old daughter, was never far behind.

Today was no exception.

Bee marched in beside her mother, two neat pigtails bouncing with every step, each tied with papaya-colored bobbles (a detail that felt almost aggressively on-brand). A stuffed frog plushie dangled from one hand, like a trusted battle companion.

Both of them — Felicity and Bee — looked unfairly bright and well-rested for how emotionally wounded Kimi felt.

Oscar, completely unbothered by the incoming reinforcements, handed Felicity the tablet without preamble.

She glanced at it. Paused. Then blinked slowly.

“You’re all stumped by this?” she asked, her voice dripping with mild disbelief.

Kimi wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“It’s the notation!” he blurted defensively. “And the question’s vague! And the examples were misleading!”

Felicity tilted her head, looking at him with the kind of fond pity reserved for particularly slow puppies. “It’s literally just a chain rule application with a matrix shortcut.”

“That’s not helping!” Ollie said, muffled into the crook of his elbow where he was laughing himself into an early grave.

Meanwhile, Bee had clambered neatly onto Oscar’s lap without hesitation, perching herself like a queen surveying her court. Kimi noticed absently how Oscar automatically shifted to make room for her — steadying her with one hand, pressing a soft kiss to her temple like it was muscle memory.

“Mama, is it hard?” Bee asked, peering at the tablet with great seriousness.

Felicity smiled. “Not really. But it’s annoying.”

Bee thought about that for a second. Then squared her tiny shoulders like she was preparing for battle.

“Can I try?” she asked.

Oscar sighed deeply. “Bee, it’s complicated—”

But Bee was already moving, plucking the tablet from his hand like it was no big deal, mumbling to herself under her breath.

“Okay, so you take this one first because it’s inside the brackets... and then you swap the middle bits because that’s the rule from the blue notebook... and then you put it all together and it looks like a frog but it’s actually a plus sign.”

Kimi blinked.

Ollie blinked.

Oscar just shook his head like a man who had accepted the chaos a long time ago.

Three minutes later, Bee beamed, handed the tablet back to her mother, and swung her legs happily.

“There,” she said proudly. “Now it’s not grumpy anymore.”

Felicity leaned over, checked the solution... And grinned.

“She’s right,” she said brightly. “Great job, sweetheart!”

Oscar gave a low, half-proud, half-resigned chuckle. “Welcome to my life.”

Kimi stared at the screen.

A four-year-old. A four-year-old had solved the math problem correctly in under three minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. He had heard rumors last year — something about Bee spotting an issue with a McLaren suspension load calculation before any of the engineers did.

But seeing it in real time?

Devastating.

Absolutely devastating.

“I— how did you—?” Kimi stuttered, still struggling to comprehend reality.

Bee shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mama says numbers are friends. You just have to make them sit next to each other nicely.”

Kimi blinked down at the tablet, then at Bee, then back again.

Maybe... maybe racing cars was safer. Maybe he should stick to corners and apexes where the worst that could happen was a spin, not having his soul annihilated by a toddler.

Felicity kissed the top of Bee’s head and said entirely too casually, “There you go. Courtesy of a four-year-old.”

Oscar smiled and held out a hand. “Great job, Bumblebee.”

Bee high-fived her father so hard the smack echoed around the motorhome.

Kimi slumped back into his seat, utterly defeated.

Maybe he had brought shame to the grid after all.

Later, Kimi found himself slumped in the corner of the McLaren motorhome, a half-crushed juice box in his hand — courtesy of Bee, who had handed it over solemnly “for bravery.”

The worst part?

He genuinely needed it.

He sipped the apple juice in silence, staring into the middle distance, quietly reconsidering his entire academic career.

Maybe he could just... never open a math textbook again. Maybe he could live the rest of his life solely calculating apex speeds and brake bias. Maybe if he was fast enough, no one would ever ask him to solve another derivative.

Maybe.

Across the room, Felicity leaned against the table, arms folded, smiling sweetly — the kind of sweet that definitely had shark teeth hiding underneath.

“Bee’s better at recognizing patterns than most adults,” she said casually, like she wasn’t casually shattering the egos of Formula One drivers before lunchtime. “She’s been beating Oscar at card games since she was two.”

Oscar, sitting beside Kimi and munching on a cookie he definitely hadn’t earned, patted Kimi’s shoulder with exaggerated sympathy.

“Don’t feel bad,” he said, trying — and failing — not to laugh. “She inherited her mother’s brain.”

Kimi just groaned into his hands.

It didn’t help that Bee chose that exact moment to skip past them, Button the Frog tucked securely under one arm and a packet of glittery frog-shaped stickers in the other.

She looked so pleased with herself. Completely oblivious to the devastation she had left behind. Or maybe — horrifying thought — not oblivious at all.

Kimi made a note to himself:

Never challenge Bee to anything involving numbers.

Never doubt Felicity’s terrifying brain ever again.

Maybe just stick to driving cars really fast. It was safer for his dignity.

Probably.

Maybe.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 1

(disclaimer: I envision the academy to be more of a college setting everyone is an adult in this story)

The grand lecture hall of Blueberry Yogurt Academy was alive with the quiet rustle of parchment and the scratch of quills. Golden candlelight flickered against stained glass windows, casting soft shadows over rows of students hunched over their desks, diligently transcribing notes. The air smelled of old books, melted wax, and a faint trace of ink. You sat near the middle far enough from the front to avoid your professor’s direct scrutiny, yet not so far that you could escape his line of sight entirely. Despite your best efforts to keep up, the equations scrawled across the massive chalkboard blurred together into an indecipherable mess. Your quill hovered hesitantly over your notes, your parchment an uneven battlefield of crossed-out mistakes and half-formed thoughts. Professor Almond Custard Cookie stood at the front, the very embodiment of patience. He was a well-respected scholar, known for his gentle demeanor and dedication to his students. His robes, embroidered with constellations, shimmered faintly as he gestured toward the board, explaining the intricacies of magical resonance theory with practiced ease. “Now, if we consider the fluctuation in mana flow when exposed to unstable astral properties…” His voice was steady, warm, inviting understanding. The class nodded along, following his train of thought. You, however, found yourself lost. Again. Your parchment was a disaster. The numbers weren’t aligning, and no matter how much you tried to trace back to where you went wrong, the logic continued to slip through your grasp. You tapped your quill against the desk, willing the knowledge to take root in your mind.

“Let’s test our understanding,” professor Almond Custard Cookie said, turning toward the class. “If one were to stabilize a fluctuating mana field under a lunar eclipse, what key principle must be applied to prevent collapse?” A silence hung in the air, the pause filled only by the quiet shifting of students preparing to answer. You ducked your head slightly, praying someone else would speak first. But then…“(y/n) cookie, why don’t you give it a try?” Your stomach twisted into a knot. You could feel the weight of every gaze turning toward you, the quiet anticipation of your classmates pressing down. You swallowed, your throat dry. You scrambled for an answer, flipping through your notes in desperation. You knew you had studied this. You had read the chapter, listened to the lectures. But now, under you  professor’s expectant gaze, your thoughts tangled into a panicked blur. “I, um… Is it… increasing the leyline attunement?” you ventured, your voice barely above a whisper. A pause. Professor Almond Custard Cookie gave a long, measured sigh. Not of anger, nor disappointment, just exhaustion. The kind that had been building for weeks. “Not quite,” he said gently, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’ve gone over this concept multiple times. Think back to last week’s lecture on celestial harmonics. You need to apply?...” You stared at him, wide-eyed, willing the answer to come. It didn’t. “The Principle of Arcane Equilibrium,” another student chimed in smoothly. “Exactly,” your professor said with a nod. He turned back to the board, seamlessly continuing the lesson, but the damage was done. You sank lower in your seat, heat creeping up your neck. Another mistake. Another moment where you had failed to grasp something that seemed so simple to everyone else. You risked a glance around, noting how some students had already returned to their notes, while others still cast you sideways glances. The rest of the lecture dragged painfully onward, your mind struggling to keep up, your parchment becoming messier with each passing minute. 

The lecture hall hums with quiet murmurs as professor Almond Custard Cookie wraps up the day's lesson. Parchment rustles, chairs creak, and students shuffle about, eager to flee the suffocating weight of academia. Yet, you remain firmly in your seat, your stomach twisting into knots as you recognize the familiar look of mild disappointment in Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s eyes. “Stay behind,” he instructs, his voice measured yet firm. You swallow hard, nodding as you watch your classmates file out. Some cast sympathetic glances, others remain indifferent, and a few are too absorbed in their own work to even notice. The moment the last student disappears through the doorway, the room falls into silence. Your professor exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning his sharp yet patient gaze onto you. “This is becoming a pattern,” he begins, his tone even but laced with exhaustion. “Your understanding of today’s lesson was…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “Lacking.” You offer a small, sheepish smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “I prefer ‘in progress.’” Your professor merely raises a brow. “If I thought humor could salvage your grasp on theoretical constructs, I’d let you continue. But we both know that isn’t the case.” Your smile falters. “I… I really am trying.” His sigh is not unkind, but it carries the weight of repeated conversations just like this one. “I know you are. And I admire that. But effort without direction is like wandering a maze blindfolded. You need guidance.” His expression softens ever so slightly. “That’s why we’re here.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling in your chest. It’s not that you don’t want to improve..it’s that no matter how hard you try, the knowledge always seems just out of reach. It slips through your grasp like water through your fingers, tauntingly close yet impossible to hold. Professor Almond Custard Cookie begins asking questions, reviewing concepts you had fumbled with earlier in class. You do your best to keep up, to piece together the fragmented bits of knowledge floating around in your head, but your responses are riddled with hesitation. Every answer feels uncertain, the words sticking to your tongue with the distinct flavor of doubt. With each incorrect response, his patience, while still present, grows thinner. “Again,” he instructs. You try. You really try. But the answer slips away from you once more. A heavy silence stretches between you, thick with frustration. Both yours and the professor’s. He exhales slowly, rubbing his temples before straightening. “We need a different approach. Clearly, repetition isn’t working. Perhaps-” The door creaks open. A voice, smooth and measured, laced with an unmistakable curiosity, fills the space. “Ah, Professor. I was hoping to catch you.” You stiffen.

Standing in the doorway is none other than Shadow Milk Cookie, the Sage of Truth himself. Your heart lurches. You’ve never seen him in person before. He is a figure of legend within academic circles, a scholar whose intellect is unmatched, whose wisdom is sought by the greatest minds in the Academy. A beacon of knowledge. A paragon of truth. And now he stands before you. His heterochromatic gaze sweeps the room before settling on the professor. “I have been wrestling with a theorem,” he continues, stepping inside, the door closing behind him with a soft click. “And while I am confident in my deductions, I would value your insight.” Professor Almond Custard Cookie, who had moments ago been at the end of his patience, now straightens, the weariness in his eyes momentarily lifting. “Shadow Milk Cookie,” he greets. “Your timing is impeccable.”

Your stomach churns. Of all times for such a revered figure to appear, why now? Why, when you’re floundering under scrutiny, your academic inadequacies laid bare? Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickers to you, curious but not unkind. “Ah. A student?” your professor nods. “One in need of assistance.” Your face burns. “I’ll figure it out,” you blurt out hastily, gripping the edges of your parchment as if it might shield you from their gazes. “Really, I don’t want to waste your time.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilts his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “A curious notion,” he muses. “Knowledge is never a waste of time.” Your fingers tighten around the parchment. It’s hard to breathe under the weight of his presence. He teaches only the brightest, engages in discussions so profound that even your professor would hesitate before challenging him. What could he possibly gain from helping someone like you? Your professor, sensing your hesitation, sighs. “Shadow Milk, perhaps you…” “I would be delighted to assist,” the Sage of Truth interjects smoothly. “If you would permit me, of course.”

You hesitate, anxiety curling in your stomach. “I… I don’t know if I” “You are struggling,” he states plainly, though not unkindly. “That is evident. But struggling alone is folly. Allow me to help. Perhaps, in doing so, I too shall learn something new.” You freeze. He, a renowned scholar, thinks he could learn from you? Professor Almond Custard Cookie sighs once more but nods. “Very well. Let’s see how this plays out.” Shadow Milk Cookie settles beside you, exuding a quiet confidence that is neither overwhelming nor condescending. “Let’s begin,” he says, his voice smooth and patient. “Tell me where you are lost.” You swallow hard. This is going to be a long evening.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s…no, the Sage of Truth’s voice was smooth and composed as he spoke, his words woven with certainty. His mismatched eyes gleamed with an almost knowing amusement, yet his demeanor remained calm, far from the theatrical arrogance whispered about in the Academy halls. Despite that, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. He was someone who taught the highest scholars those with brilliant minds that grasped complex theories with ease, not someone who wasted time on students like you. And yet, here you were, sitting across from him, hands gripping the edge of your desk so tightly your fingers ached. “I understand that this may seem overwhelming,” the Sage of Truth said, his tone gentle, as though he sensed the weight of your unease. “But the key to knowledge is patience, and patience is something I have in abundance.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your head low. “I um, I appreciate it, but…” Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Surely you have more important things to do, especially with the title you hold. You don’t have to waste your time with me.” Your professor who had been silent for the past few moments exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “For the love of-...(y/n) cookie, he’s offering to help you. Do not look a gift horse in the mouth.” You flinched at the exasperation in his tone and turned your gaze toward him in silent pleading. Please let me go. Professor Almond Custard Cookie only gave you a look that said, absolutely not. The Sage of Truth rested his chin on his hand, watching you with measured interest. “I see…” he mused. “You hold great reverence for me, yet that reverence manifests as avoidance.” He tilted his head slightly. “Tell me, do you think knowledge is only for the most gifted?” You hesitated before answering. “N-No, but… I’m not…” You clenched your fists, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I’m not like the others who study under you. I can’t even grasp the basics of what Professor Almond Custard Cookie teaches me. It’d be a waste of your time to”

“Nonsense.” His interruption was firm yet kind. “All who seek truth are worthy of learning. If you are struggling, then that is simply the nature of learning. You are no less deserving of knowledge than those who excel with ease.” The conviction in his voice left you stunned. Your professor sighed, standing and stretching out his back. “Honestly, if anyone can get through to you, it’d be him,” he muttered before making his way toward his bookshelf. You, however, were still tense, unsure of how to respond to the Sage of Truth. Your heart pounded in your chest, an odd mixture of admiration and anxiety weighing heavily on you. “I” You paused, unsure how to address him without sounding foolish. You had never once uttered his name, not even in passing conversation with others. It felt too improper, too intimate, for someone of his stature. Instead, you swallowed your nerves and whispered, “I don’t want to trouble you.”

He smiled slightly, shaking his head. “It is no trouble. But if you feel so strongly about it…” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. “Then prove me wrong.” Your breath hitched. “Prove to me that my time is wasted. That you are beyond help.” His tone was almost challenging, yet the warmth in his voice remained. “Show me that you cannot learn, and I shall leave you be.” It was an impossible challenge. And he knew it. You bit your lip, feeling trapped. No matter what, there was no way to argue against the Sage of Truth. “…Where do we start?” You finally whispered. His smile widened just a fraction. “Excellent.” You looked at him confused…did he not hear your question? No matter you let it go, after all you’re in no position to question anything.

A/N I forgot to post this last night LOL please enjoy this will be a slow burn so bear with me <3

Next>>>

[ventique18]

Grim: "Oh! If it ain't Sebek and Silver! You're back!"

The two explain that they've healed within a week of the incident, but it was just that test were run so many times on them that it took them so long.

Yuu: "Your hair is back to silver!"

Because Lilia's back, the blessing returned too!

"We haven't seen Lord Malleus yet..."

Silver shares that while he'd had a video call with Lilia and he's all fine and dandy, he hasn't caught peep of Malleus yet.

And then... the first years all came to Ramshackle!

Yuu: "Why is everyone here?"

Deuce: "We're glad to see Silver-senpai and Sebek. Just now, this was posted in the cafeteria..."

"MALLEUS DRACONIA REINSTATED!!"

Yuu: "Hornton really is coming back to the College?"

Sebek: "Malleus-sama is... returning? Really?"

So apparently, Sage Island held a parent teacher meeting to determine if Malleus, despite being branded as a natural-class disaster, should be reinstated to school. Malleus was not charged with a crime because he was categorized as a "natural world class disaster"; a force of nature that nobody could've seen coming.

So what do people normally do with a disaster? They aren't locked up; measures are just made to prevent it from damaging anymore. So Malleus was allowed to come back to school with the condition that his stay will be strictly regulated.

Malleus was also lucky, because apparently he had a precedent. 2000 years ago, there was a great wizard and his disciple. One day the disciple tried a great magic and put the island in disastrous state, but instead of cutting ties with the disciple, he let him off with just a lesson. Apparently the people of Sage Island wanted to follow that great wizard's footsteps and showed mercy to Malleus. For as long as he feels remorse and genuinely wants to learn to be better, then he deserves another chance.

Ace: "No, everyone's hearts is just too vast!"

... Or so he thought, but he gave it another thought and decided that he was sure other major incidents like this happened in the past already, so he can't really fault Malleus for fucking up like that.

Sebek: "WAKA-SAMA!!! CONGRATULATIONS!!!!"

WHY IS HE CRYING?>!!! LMFAOOO

Silver: "... I don't know how to properly thank you... Everyone, thank you, really."

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #23

The day started like any other in the Ghost Zone: tense, glowing, and humming with the promise of disaster. Danny had only popped by Clockwork’s tower to ask a simple question—something about paradox prevention or whatever—and definitely didn’t mean to touch the ancient, glowing relic perched delicately atop a cursed pedestal of time-forgotten sorrow and screaming. But he did. He touched it. And then everything exploded in green light and dramatic violin music (which might have been in his head).

And just like that, Danny Fenton was five years old again. Five. Chubby-cheeked, wide-eyed, pint-sized kindergarten-age with all the raw ghost powers of his seventeen-year-old self packed into a body no taller than three feet of chaos. Worse, he remembered everything—every awkward high school moment, every near-death experience, every ghost fight, every existential meltdown.

“Clockwork!” Danny shrieked, his voice now horrifyingly high-pitched and squeaky. “What the actual hell?!”

“Language, Daniel,” Clockwork said in the maddeningly serene way only a time god could manage, waving his staff with an infuriating smirk. “Consider this a learning experience.”

“I hate learning! Learning’s for school and people who don’t get turned into toddlers by rogue hourglasses!”

But Clockwork only chuckled like this was all going according to some elaborate cosmic lesson plan. Probably because it was. He vanished mid-scolding, leaving Danny alone in the tower, stomping around in his little sneakers and throwing ghost-powered tantrums that cracked the marble tiles.

Which is when the floor opened.

To be clear, Danny did not jump into the swirling blue portal. He fell. He fell dramatically with limbs flailing and an undignified scream that would later be blamed on the wind. The portal spit him out in the middle of what could only be described as a cathedral on steroids: tall golden columns, floating runes, and people in robes glaring like he’d farted during a funeral.

He crash-landed on a silk-draped table in front of the actual gods.

“…Ow,” Danny groaned, blinking up at a very tall, very unimpressed man with a horned crown and cheekbones so sharp they could cut reality.

The man frowned. “Why is there a child in the royal seidr sanctum?”

“I didn’t mean to be here! I touched a stupid relic and now I’m five and I fell through a portal and—wait, are you Loki?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

“Cool. Love your work. Big fan. Please don’t murder me.”

Loki blinked. “…What?”

Then the child burst into blue flames and hovered six inches off the table, sparking with ghost energy like an angry firecracker. Everyone screamed. A robed man passed out. Someone wet themselves. Loki, to his credit, looked intrigued.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, circling the small floating menace. “You’re not of Midgard, are you?”

“I’m Danny from Earth, actually! I’m from Illinois! I’m just—also—kind of a half-ghost and currently five and possibly stuck like this forever!”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “You’re an abomination of magic.”

“Thank you?”

“I like you.”

“No thanks?”

But Loki had already scooped him up like some cursed kitten that wandered into his life. Danny screamed the whole way down the palace corridors, zapping walls, guards, and an unfortunate tapestry depicting Odin’s triumphs. Loki just looked delighted. Like this was the best pet he’d ever found. Like this was revenge against Thor just by existing.

“You are now Dánjal Lokison,” Loki declared.

“I AM NOT—STOP—PUT ME DOWN—”

“I shall raise you in my image.”

“I already have a dad and he’s stupid but he’s mine—put me down or I will scream and explode and possess your furniture!”

“You’ll fit in perfectly.”

Thus began the unholy saga of Danny Fenton, age five, accidentally adopted by the God of Mischief and forced into Asgardian nobility under duress. It was, somehow, not even the weirdest thing to happen that month.

Loki dressed him in child-sized black leather and tiny green cloaks. He taught him how to chant spells in Elder Seidr, how to bend illusions with his hands, and how to summon fire with a thought. Danny, in retaliation, taught Loki about Earth cartoons, fart jokes, and TikTok dances. It was a two-way cultural exchange of chaos and regret.

“I’m telling you,” Danny said one day while floating upside down and eating apples he stole from the royal garden, “if you say ‘We’re going ghost’ and then transform, it’s at least thirty percent more dramatic.”

“That’s idiotic,” Loki replied, watching as Danny exploded into white light and ghost form, now slightly glowing with new magic enhancements.

“You’re just jealous I sparkle when I fight.”

“I do not sparkle.”

“You sparkle on the inside.”

“Stop talking.”

“Dánjal Lokison, feared child warlock of the Nine Realms,” Thor once declared when he saw the tiny menace casually phasing through walls and summoning frost giants to play tag.

“DON’T NAME ME THAT,” Danny screeched, blasting Thor into a wall. Loki applauded from the doorway.

“Good aim, my son.”

“I’M NOT—STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

But Danny was starting to enjoy the magic lessons. Seidr wasn’t like ghost powers. It was older, wilder, sometimes alive. Loki was a surprisingly good teacher—equal parts unhinged chaos and genuine brilliance. He explained the threads of fate like they were spider webs and taught Danny how to pull on them without being noticed. He spoke about illusion like it was poetry and destruction like it was art.

Danny, in turn, taught Loki to prank Thor using invisible slime bombs and existentially disturbing hand puppets that whispered secrets in Old Norse.

They became a problem.

Every time the Avengers tried to contact Asgard, they were met with grainy magical holograms of a tiny child in a green cape flipping them off while floating upside down on a summoned ghost-storm cloud.

“Tony Stark looks like a soggy crouton!” Danny shouted once.

“And smells like cheap cologne,” Loki added.

“High five, evil dad!”

“High five, tiny curse.”

Eventually, Odin tried to intervene.

“This child is not of Asgard,” the All-Father declared.

“I’m not trying to be!” Danny yelled. “Please take me back to Earth! I miss McNuggets and not wearing robes!”

“He’s mine now,” Loki said, summoning a massive magical contract written in fire and Loki’s own blood. “Legally and spiritually bound. I did the adoption ritual and everything. It involved a screaming goat.”

“I HATE THAT GOAT,” Danny screamed.

“I love that goat,” Loki sighed.

“You’re both mentally unstable,” Odin muttered, rubbing his temples.

Danny was eventually granted limited “portal privileges,” which meant he could sneak back to Earth and terrorize his friends while still technically being a Lokison. Sam and Tucker didn’t even question the fact that he was a child again. Jazz just nodded like this was expected and handed him a juice box.

“Have you emotionally bonded with your captor yet?” she asked.

“I am not bonding with Loki!” Danny snapped.

“You call him ‘evil dad’ and wear his colors.”

“THAT’S NOT A BOND, IT’S A THREAT DISPLAY!”

Back in Asgard, Danny practiced summoning tiny void rifts, which Loki encouraged.

“Good,” he said, sipping wine as the rifts swallowed another fruit bowl. “Let the darkness consume you.”

“I just wanted an orange.”

“Even better.”

Eventually, Danny grew attached. It was subtle. A twitch of the lip when Loki conjured birthday cupcakes with green fire. A soft “thanks” when Loki wordlessly cleaned his scraped knees with glowing runes. A quiet night where Danny fell asleep reading next to Loki and didn’t wake up until morning curled in a pile of fur cloaks and dark magic.

“Do you miss being big?” Loki asked one night, watching the child version of his adopted problem-child sketch battle plans in crayon.

“Sometimes,” Danny said. “But…this isn’t bad. Just weird. You’re weird.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Take what I can get.”

Loki never asked too much. He didn’t push Danny to call him ‘Dad’ or act like anything other than the feral little ghost-child he was. But he was there—smirking through tantrums, snarking through training, protecting Danny like a dragon hoards gold.

So when some ambitious frost giant tried to kidnap “the ghostling Lokison,” they were met with a five-year-old banshee of death wielding seidr, ghost rays, and an unholy screech that shattered icebergs.

And behind him, Loki arrived in a storm of green fire and fury.

“Touch my son again,” he said, “and I will erase your ancestors from the time stream.”

“I’M STILL NOT YOUR—wait, okay yeah, get him.”

They were a nightmare pair. A chaos duo. A tiny tornado of destruction and his too-proud magic tutor/father/roommate/menace.

Eventually, Danny stood in front of a new portal, Clockwork hovering beside him with his usual smug patience.

“You’re ready to go back,” Clockwork said. “To your age. To your world.”

Danny glanced over his shoulder. Loki stood there with his arms folded, expression unreadable but eyes a little too bright.

“I’ll come visit,” Danny said, voice small but steady.

“You’d better,” Loki replied, voice quiet and sharp as always.

There was a long pause.

“Bye… evil dad.”

“Goodbye, Dánjal.”

Danny turned. The portal shimmered. His small form stepped through, glowing with ghost light and seidr and something else—something new.

Back home, he hit the ground as a seventeen-year-old again. Taller. Older. But he still wore green.

In his pocket, a rune carved with love.

He never said he liked being a Lokison.

Though he’ll never stop using the name.

[mingyuisthevictimofsvt]

His Royal Application Only

Childhood Chaos and Crowned Disasters

The palace was the kind of place you only saw in fairytales—high marble ceilings, golden chandeliers that glimmered like starlight, and sprawling gardens that never stopped blooming. But to you, it wasn’t a magical kingdom. It was your playground. And unfortunately, it came with a permanent playmate: Prince Kim Mingyu.

You had known Mingyu since you were old enough to walk, thanks to the fact that your mother was the Queen’s best friend and closest advisor. That bond meant your childhood was spent inside palace walls—attending etiquette classes, playing in the royal corridors, and most importantly, being dragged into every ridiculous game Mingyu could think of.

At six, he decided he was a dragon-slayer.

Which meant you were the princess in distress.

You still remembered the day he stormed into the East Garden, a plastic sword in one hand and a cooking pot on his head like a helmet, yelling at the top of his lungs.

"I am Sir Kim of the Gyu! I have come to save you, Princess Y/N!"

You looked up from your coloring book, unimpressed. “I’m not even tied up.”

He gasped in horror. “You escaped the dragon? You’re stronger than I thought. That’s why we must marry.”

“Absolutely not,” you replied, flicking a crayon at his forehead.

Marriage proposals came daily after that. From him. With all the elegance of a puppy tripping over its own ears.

One time, he handed you a ring he made out of jellybeans and whispered dramatically, “This is the Royal Gummy. Say yes and rule beside me.”

You ate the jellybean instead.

Your mothers used to watch the two of you from the veranda and laugh endlessly. “They’re going to get married one day,” the Queen would say fondly, sipping her tea.

Your mother chuckled. “If she doesn’t kill him first.”

You couldn’t argue. Mingyu was a menace. A sweet, clumsy, absolutely over-the-top menace.

At age eight, he started his own "knighthood club" and knighted a pigeon in the royal courtyard. You were his squire. The pigeon was named Sir Pecks-a-Lot.

At nine, the two of you painted the royal fountain bright pink because you said it looked “sad.”

You got grounded for a week. Mingyu got a very stern talking-to from five advisors and the head butler, who nearly cried when the fountain bubbled magenta.

And at ten, he held your hand for the first time during a thunderstorm.

You were both hiding under the piano in the grand hall—he was scared of thunder, though he’d never admit it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, scooting closer. “If the lightning comes, I’ll protect you. Even if I have to fight the sky.”

You stared at him, equal parts moved and confused.

“…You can’t fight the sky, dummy.”

“I can if it hurts you.”

And you believed him.

Because when it came to Mingyu, no matter how ridiculous he was, he always meant every word.

As the years passed, the games changed, but the bond stayed the same.

You were always at each other’s side—during dance practices, banquet rehearsals, lessons on diplomacy. You were his partner in crime and the only person who could get away with calling him a “walking chandelier” when he wore too much gold.

One summer, when you were both around twelve, you got into a flour fight in the royal kitchen. You were trying to sneak cookies. He tried to help. Ten minutes later, the head chef found the two of you completely white, looking like powdered ghosts.

“Did you conquer the baking kingdom?” the chef asked, voice dry.

“Yes,” Mingyu answered with a solemn nod. “The pastries are free now.”

You doubled over laughing, and for the first time, you saw something strange in his eyes. He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

But then he tripped over a bag of sugar and crashed into the pantry door.

So, you figured it was just your imagination.

By fourteen, he was taller. By fifteen, he was suddenly handsome in a way you didn’t know what to do with. And by sixteen, something was shifting.

But that came later.

Back then, all you knew was this:

The palace was your world.

Mingyu was your chaos.

And somehow, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

•Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5•

Series masterlist

A/n - let me know if anyone wants to get tagged for the next chapter

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 6

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

billy drives to westview again, I guess flying right now feels weird while he's so conflicted about his own witchy nature. and who boarded up agatha's door? were the neighbors afraid some other unspeakable horror was going to jump out of the house?

we get another good view of agatha's grave, with all the purple flowers and mushrooms rio grew for her

agnes' bike and señor scratchy's cage (I hope that fluffer bunny's okay somewhere)

NOT HELPING, AGATHA. did she just run down to the basement so she could do her 'it's britney bitch' face? (she does look like britney here)

sure, sure, you'll get your brooch back and then you'll be on your merry way doing ghostly shit with no regrets whatsoever. it's not like you've been following billy around like a lost puppy or anything

agatha sees billy drawing the circle and is all posture again, a big slice of "I'm cooler than you and you don't scare me little kid" with a side of "ooooh are we doing magic?? I love magic lemme see lemme see!"

she's truly embarrassing

you're the one with a buttload of black candles in your basement agatha who do you think you're mocking

a pentacle, the symbol of our coven surrounding him. wherever you are, a coven there shall be.

oooh book through the heart! we get it, symbolism.

agatha sees the brooch and gives a deep relieved sigh, immediately followed by more bullshit. JUST TELL HIM THAT'S YOUR SON'S BROOCH AND IT'S IMPORTANT, YOU USELESS DISASTER. JUST OPEN UP FOR ONCE.

the spell is vade (not valia) a lucem, relinque terram, noli esse phantasma. go to the light, leave the earth, don't be a ghost (bit on the nose.)

what's wrong agatha, not feeling so confident all of a sudden?

you know the drill by now, she won't go quietly. so she sneers.

ooh we're appealing to his better nature now? after your many 'never apologize for murder' lessons?

idk man, it's almost as if the people you keep pushing away will eventually get tired of your bullshit. it's almost as if billy here, the kid you supposedly care a lot about, just went through a terrible experience and could really need a wise mentor right now - instead of whatever you're doing.

and now we're begging. better make a decision there agatha, you're starting to fade away!

sure, that will help. great plan agatha, masterful gambit, turning into a ghost and losing even more of your agency

there you go. it only took this poor wretch nine episodes, killing three people, scaring away forever the love of her life, thoroughly traumatizing a kid and somehow losing her entire body to express ONE honest, uncensored feeling.

it's the little steps.

heartwarming: local 350 year old experiences for the first time the mortifying ordeal of being known.

another thing billy and agatha have in common is how good they are at reading people. with billy it's a natural talent (comes with being a mind reader) that he's still learning how to use, he can read people but doesn't know how to interpret what he finds yet, hence the whole trials fiasco.

with agatha, he's been trying to reconcile his instincts with facts and logic. on a surface level he shouldn't trust agatha at all, indeed she's the last person anyone should trust. but since he was that kid who liked hanging out at agnes' house, billy guessed something else in agatha, a vulnerability behind all the darkness that he's been (awkwardly) trying to bring to the surface.

why? I think it's for the same reason agatha has been reaching out to him: because they're so similar. billy wants to reconcile agatha's two natures because he wants to do the same for himself. he is the son of the witch who tortured westview, he has all this scary power. there is a darkness in him that he doesn't know how to deal with, but maybe, if agatha is redeemed, there is hope for himself too.

in other words, these two are kindred spirits (spiritual mother/son, mentor/mentee, whatever you want to call it) who recognize each other and instinctively want to stick to together, even though it's a bad, bad idea.

(I cannot believe it took agatha turning into a ghost to finally get a manicure for her nasty witchy nails)

and this is all it took to win billy over, that's how ready and eager he was to believe agatha has a heart! the moment he realizes that of course agatha loved nicholas! of course she's devastated after losing him! he steps back and dries a tear, moved. for the first time he sees agatha's pain and, the good kid he is, he's earnest to give her sympathy and comfort. he's still too young to fully understand what agatha has been trough, but he doesn't need to. he just needs to care and be there for her, and that's enough, that makes all the difference.

the salemites taught agatha that she cannot trust others, that if she shows who she really is people will hate her and hurt her. when nicky died she tried all she could to exorcise that devastating pain, except asking for help. she never allowed someone to give her even the most basic forms of comfort, no hugs, no crying on someone's shoulder, no 'I'm sorry this happened to you'. no 'I'm here for you, if you need anything'. no 'I know it feels like that, but I promise it wasn't your fault.'

agatha set out to mold and raise billy as another version of herself, but what she got instead is a kid who, just like nicky, is simply glad to love her back. yes, people will leave you if you keep pushing them away, but the opposite is also true: if you stick by and make an effort, no matter how many mistakes you make, most people will recognize what you're doing and respond in kind. it sucks that agatha can do that so rarely and with so much difficulty. but it happens sometimes, even to her.

I've talked about how a "coven two" is never sustainable on the long run, how you cannot just have one person be your whole world. humans, social animals we are, simply need a community. but for now it's a start, it's agatha cautiously letting herself be around another person again. and oh god she's going to be such a bad influence on this poor kid. I'm glad *he* has other people in his life, at least.

she's like, faIR WArNiNG

ookay drama llama. these two gays, I swear. already trying to outdrama each other.

she's all proud!! look at her boy paying homage to the dead and expressing his grief like a champ! meanwhile I'm sitting here like guys, guys, you cannot just write their names on the floor and call it a day, have you CHECKED if you have to break the news to their loved ones?! did sharon have children? did alice have friends or a partner that are looking for her right now?!?!!?!?! please make ONE phone call I beg you! is there an ADULTIER ADULT in the room, you CANNOT LEAVE THESE TWO IN CHARGE

and off they go, merrily causing chaos and mayhem. if I had to guess what happens next, agatha is going to love and help and teach that kid while making soooo many mistakes and causing soooo much emotional damage, and also very much try to manipulate him into giving her a new body, because lbr, this asshole didn't get herself close to the one person on earth who can do that by pure accident. all immaturity and ulterior motives aside, agatha is taking baby steps in the right direction and I'm SEATED for it.

AND WE'RE DONE. I cannot believe I got to the end of this?!!?! thank you from the bottom of my black heart to all the peeps who reached out and encouraged me, thank you for all your likes and reblogs and engagement, and special thanks to @idkbroletssee, @yodladi-yodlada, @aquaaquila, @onceuponalegendbg, @vinspiration-book, @sallysetonagathario, @2-the-moon-and-2-saturn, @yourlocalegotisticalqueerishere, @isagrimorie, @jojobobapalooza, @netellie, @nutella-icecream, @talysalankil, @ragnarockz, @misschanandlerbong25, @westviews-nosiest, @liminal-smith, @kendrysaneela, @whogirl42, @witchtwig, @nerdybeachbum299, @bogcrowe, @the-silence-in-between, @farminglesbian, @lazyreinelle @fantasticvoidnerdshoe, @ofutopia, I'm sure I'm forgetting many but I promise I see you all!

Last but not least, big, grateful thanks to @crybabyheathen for always messaging me and forcing me out of my shell and encouraging much needed human interaction 😉. And lots of love to @april-december, don't tell anyone but I look forward to your comments the most, it truly means the world that you appreciate and engage with my posts like you've been doing.

Happy new year, everybody!

[pact-in-progress]

Thirteen loves freedom. Her symbol is a butterfly which also represents freedom. She speaks her own mind, dresses her own style, lives on her own terms and rather spend time alone so others aren’t a problem.

MC in contrast who felt as if they’ve lost their freedom. Who felt burden ever since S2 (ironically Thirteen's first unnamed mention the lesson before the disaster) and since then were bound by duty to hone their sorcerer skills to protect the human/ 3 realms.

They'd caused damage to it. If they don't work hard to atone and protect the 3 realms they should have been the one stabbed instead

By S4 they were essentially blackmailed into joining the student council and since then worried about contributing with council duties, appearances, demons and their opinions on a human in power, nobles convincing Diavolo the human is a threat, RAD students protesting, Sorcerer’s Society who don’t trust them, all while still keeping up with Solomon's classes, continuing to improve their magic, keeping up with RAD classes and homework, and fitting in as the good human who brings everyone together, spending time with their— when was the last time they've spent time with their friends and loved ones? Once you think about their situation returning from the NB timeline it gets even worse. They still have to figure out what happened and who Nightbringer is, all while MC’s powers spiked up and were then tested by the ones they trusted and while there’s clearly tension between the 3 species & realms.

And then there’s Thirteen.

Thirteen exists outside it all. A reaper who isn’t bound to the Devildom, Celestial Realm, or Human World. She’s also said to be different from other reapers and operate her own way. She’ll only ever involve herself if it interests her —which mainly includes you— but otherwise she doesn’t care for the most part.

MC somehow makes enough time to spend with Thirteen at times in a cafe or walk around shopping helping her find new trap materials. Thirteen doesn’t ask anything from MC except their presence (and compliment her traps, of course). MC doesn’t feel like a threat, burden, or see expectations laid out for them. Even with all her chaos and unpredictability, it somehow brings a sense of comfort. Anyone else would question whether you’re right in the head for that. But with Thirteen MC feels something they don’t feel often anymore: Freedom. They admire her sense of freedom and relish in theirs when they have time to spare with Thirteen. It won’t break them free or entirely unbound, but it makes them feel less trapped. Less alone. They’re not alone.

[casper-spills]

|Today's Angel Messsages| 𓆩♡𓆪

ᴘɪʟᴇ 1 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 2 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 3 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 4 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 5 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 6 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 7 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 8 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 9

✦Masterlist ✦Paid Readings ✦Support me through Kofi

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 1 ໒꒱

Archangel Uriel: The Fire Of God Disruption. Warns of disasters. Aids in transformation.

877 'The angels of blessings are surrounding you now, filling your life with their energy. Open up your heart, mind, and eyes to experience their wonder'.

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 2 ໒꒱#

Anauel 63: The Meek God Perception of unity. Protects against accidents. Heals the sick.

8 'A cycle or pattern is being repeated now so that you understand the lesson. Take time to reflect'.

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 3 ໒꒱

Daniel 50: God, The Merciful Judge Eloquence. Gives answers to those in doubt.

828 'Your angels are dancing in celebration of all your personal and professional achievements. Take time to acknowledge your hard work'.

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 4 ໒꒱

Ieiazel 40: God Who Rejoices Divine comfort. Gives consolation. Gives protection from ones enemies.

169 'Taking time to connect with and honor your emotions is important at this time. Your angels adore you'.

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 5 ໒꒱

Haziel 8: The Merciful God Divine forgiveness. Obtains friendship and favours of the great. Secures promises.

38 'You are uncovering memories from lifetimes beyond your current lifetime - your current spiritual interests are inspired by experiences from previous lives'.

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 6 ໒꒱

Mahasiah 5: God The Saviour Rectification. Helps one live in peace with everyone.

6 'Take time to eliminate all that's blocking your joy. Follow what makes your heart dance'.

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 7 ໒꒱

Mehiel 64: The Vivifying God Restoration of life. Protection from adversaries, rabies and wild beasts.

512 'Take time to make peace in relationships where you have experienced challenges. Show that you are willing to move forward in a loving way'.

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 8 ໒꒱

Melahel 23: The Tod Deflecting Evil Healing capacity. Protection from weapons. Safety in travel.

5 'Abundance is a state of mind. When you feel rich spiritually, your physical life will reflect it'.

꒰ঌ ᴘɪʟᴇ 9 ໒꒱

Archangel Samael: Severity Of God Seduction and downfall. Communicates with the dead. Teaches the occult and magic.

10 'You are uniting your energy with that of God. Trust that the signs you are seeing are direct communication with the divine'.

☁︎ Thank you for your support! ☁︎

Reference: Kyle Gray, 2019, Angel Numbers

Dividers: @diviniyae, @hyuneskkami, @cafekitsune

[charliejaneanders]

Here's a Tumblr post that I can link to that explains all about my novel Lessons in Magic and Disaster, which comes out August 19.

Lessons is about a young trans woman named Jamie, who is a PhD student in English lit. She's also a witch! Jamie has learned how to go into the abandoned places, where people built stuff that's being reclaimed by nature, and cast spells to make her life better. (Plus other people's lives.)

Jamie decides to teach her mother Serena how to do magic.

(Image: Daderot/Wikipedia).

Serena has been living in an old one-room school house in the middle of nowhere for the past several years — ever since her wife died and a bunch of other bad stuff happened.

Jamie thinks that learning about magic will help her mom to feel powerful and start wanting things again. She wants to help bring her mother back to the world. But there's a lot that Jamie doesn't know about what happened to her mom back in the day, and the baggage that Serena still carries.

The novel has a lot of flashbacks to Serena's past as a lesbian activist in the 1990s and 2000s, including protests against the bombing of a lesbian bar, and other actions. And we see how Serena met her wife, Mae, and how they eventually had a child, Jamie. And how Serena and Mae dealt with raising a trans child in the 2000s and 2010s.

This storyline is so full of joy and coziness and family and love — Serena starts out as kind of a feral queer who is just messing around, but then she falls deeply in love and has to grow up in the process of building a family. Serena goes to law school and becomes an attorney, while Mae does a million jobs, including being a pro domme.

I really loved researching a million things about queer people from the 1990s to the 2010s, and it really drove home how much the struggles we're having today are exactly the same as back then.

There's also a third storyline in the book! Jamie, the main character, is writing her dissertation about 18th century literature. Jamie becomes obsessed with a mysterious novel called Emily which was written by an anonymous woman in 1749.

(Emily is a fictional book that I made up, but all the stuff I include in Lessons in Magic and Disaster about how amazing the women authors of the 1730s and 1740s were is true. They were incredible. I was taught in college that Jane Austen was the first great lady novelist, and that was a lie. I found out so much great stuff researching this book.)

Following the trail of Emily eventually leads Jamie to discover hints about a mysterious scandal that happened in the 1730s. And the scandal involved Charlotte Charke — who was a real person, but I made up the scandal in question. Charlotte Charke was an actor who usually performed in men's clothing, and she also lived as a man offstage. When she couldn't get work on the stage, she did men's jobs, and she married a woman who stayed with her for most of her life. (I'm using "she/her" pronouns for Charlotte because that's what she used when she was alive, but she was very clearly transmasc.)

That's Charlotte in the picture above, wearing a totally fabulous pink outfit — she often played a foppish, overdressed man on stage. And pink was a manly color back then.

Anyway, we start to realize that the same struggle for liberation has been going on for CENTURIES. And also that maybe the author of Emily knew something about magic... something that can help Jamie and her mother in the present.

So that's what the book is about. I ended up doing so much research and even writing a ton of passages from a fake 18th century novel, plus tons of letters from the 18th century. And I had a blast writing all the scenes where Jamie tries to teach Serena how to bend the universe a little. There are parts of this book that still make me laugh, and other parts that still make me cry, when I re-read it.

You can read the first two chapters (which form a self-contained story), over at Uncanny Magazine.

If that sounds good to you, you can pre-order it anywhere. If you want a signed/personalized/doodled copy, you can pre-order it from Green Apple Books (they ship all over the USA). If you pre-order it — please do, it really helps so much! — then you should definitely submit your receipt so I can send you some extra goodies in August.

Thank you for reading this whole thing! I'm very excited to share this book with you. <3

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

rewatching Saddle Row Review and loving the little things

Twilight, a magical princess of Equestria, first hinting, then stating, then BEGGING to be the one who organizes Rarity's merchandize

actually this whole contrast of

Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie & Rainbow Dash: stressed sweating on the edge of tears going against their nature trying to guess what Rarity would want

Twilight Sparkle: happily organized all Rarity’s stock “There!… hmm, but what would Rarity want? Maybe she wouldn't want them done by color?” delighted “Guess I’ll just have to start all over!” grins and dives back into the dress sorting sauce

Twilight was so blissed out re-reorganizing Rarity’s boutique she didn’t even notice everything going to horse apples around her until the very last second.

She was also the only one who DIDN’T have to go out of character while asking herself “what would rarity want” instead just using it as a blatant excuse to do what SHE wants- keep on organizing stuff.

This is my Raritwi side talking. Skip if desired. It says this is one of my fav raritwi ship episodes.

It says look at how comfortably Twilight falls into Rarity’s career choice in her own personal way and look how (because Twilight is speaking for the group) Rarity is mainly touching and addressing Twilight throughout the episode. They even get their own separate non-group hug while Rarity says “I knew I could count on you!”. Look at how we go from Twilight being so pleased on how she sorted Rarity’s merchandise to a portrait of Rarity that someone decided to decorate the boutique with. It says princess Twilight Sparkle multiple time savior of Equestria called sorting out things so Rarity can easily find stuff some of her finest work, and Rarity, who is trying to make it among the social elite, is friends with a princess who was mentored by a princess and is inlaws with a princess and all the help Rarity accepts from her is in sorting out a jumble of dresses. It says Twilight respects Rarity the fashionista and Rarity values Twilight as a nerd.

I will now tell the raritwi in me to be quiet again but you get the picture.

anyway, also looove everyone’s different orders at the diner interviews!

Rarity & Twilight both get tea, same kind with it’s own little teabag- Twilight the current princess past librarian / student of a tea drinking princess and Rarity, a fashion minded mare who loves the vibes of said princesses castle crowned home town and all things she thinks of a fancy.    

sporty Rainbow Dash obviously has a drink in a to-go cup

Applejack has a nice slice of pie, good simple food after all the work at the boutique

Pinkie Pie and her parade of endless party foods and deserts, the bill of which she sheepishly passes on the interviewer

and Fluttershy, at first awkwardly playing with silverware and presumably felt too shy to order anything, but when the raccoon family joins her they’re either snacking on her order of hay fries and a drink OR she managed to make an order specifically for them. She DOES specifically slide a whole pie over to them later. Either way, aww

Twilight’s quiet confidence and initiative during the whole thing. She’s the voice of reassurance and reason keeping the whole situation from disintegrating. She's come such a long way. No hint of anxious, snarky, micro managing Twilight here, all those friendship mistakes and lessons really shine through.

(reminding the others that Rarity is their friend and will be understanding)

(wanting to own up to the near disaster of opening night before Rarity reads about it)

(complimenting Rarity on her new boutique while gently asking if the dusty falling down space really can be ready by that night)

(helping AJ and RD have fun even while sweeping up with a silly but catchy little chant neither will ever admit to getting caught up in “sweep sweep sweep~”)

(bringing up postponing the opening when she sees how stressed Rarity is)

(immediately suggesting Rarity rely on her friends for help getting things ready)

(being the one to notice Rarity about to walk in on the ensuing chaos and doing a flying leap across the boutique to stop her and buy time)

(realizing the problem everyone is having and steering them all and herself back on track)

Even in her interview Twilight is so reflective and supportive. Yes, Rarity was a bit stressed because no things weren’t going well, but Twilight thinks she handled it pretty well- and when you remember how TWILIGHT has reacted to things not going well in the past, yeah, she’s right. Rarity did really great.

The cut to Rarity wailing in despair right afterwards XD

Rarity managing to wait until her friends arrived before reading the review of her new boutique!

It’s only her third ever opening, only the second boutique that doesn’t double as her home, and she still waited!

Her disbelief, shock, and apologetic tone when the review calls her friends 'ne'er-do-ells' after all that hard work they did do. "Ooh! Heavens I think he means you-"

Fluttershy completely covered in dust and clearly not happy about it, but also not shaking herself off like the other mane 6. Just. Daintily flicking her forehoof.

Remember when she had to be physically puppeteered into moving inelegantly?

Remember when she preformed extreme take-down wrestling moves on a bear to help with its back pain?

I love Fluttershy.

Applejack the farmer liking the idea of wearable spoons not just bc spoons are useful for eating, they also are great tools for making small holes. Such as ones you’d plant seeds in, perhaps.

the wiggly hoof digging sound effect heheh

Rainbow too busy being paid attention to and retelling her POV as awesomely as possible she fails at understanding the concept of being interviewed or that if you tell a reporter something they might write it down and publish it.

Same background pony in both AJ and RD’s interview foreshadowing theirs happening at around the same time, and then there they are, being interviewed together.

Rarity complaining about ponies these day playing the stuff they call music too loud, and then admitting that makes her sound like an old mare, and then doubling down on it anyway because she has a business to run. That stage in life when you can hear yourself turning into the adults who used to annoy you and you don’t want to but it’s happening anyway.

DJ Pon-3 casually shrugging at Pinkie’s apology for making her play lame music even though the dance floor is now empty and she’s clearly sad about it. Then you see Pinkie is getting casually dragged away by the security guy while still talking

And at least one Pinkie Pie clone escaped zapping. They’ve made it to Manehatten. Good for them.   

The cut from AJ and RD dissing on Twilight’s “sweep sweep sweep~” cleaning chant, complete with hoof-bump over how lame it was, only to flashback to them happily chanting and cleaning along with Twi. The power of the nerd is too strong. Not even the two resident jocks are immune to it- even if they’ll never admit to it

Rarity and Twilight’s hug right before opening the boutique. I love when these ponies hug.

The boutique catching so much interest thanks to it’s quirkiness and charm, rather than being perfect the way someone might expect. The personal touch of Rarity’s friends breathes life into her store in a way Rarity herself might never have done on her own.

And- after Rarity complaining about the younger generation, look who turns out to be right about spoon clothes after all? Her young new non-negotiable hire in plaid!

Twilight Sparkle, who became and alicorn princess and currently lives in a giant magical crystal tree castle, being So Proud of organizing Rarity’s boutique with indexing and reverse indexing so Rarity can find whatever she wants in just 3 seconds flat!

Princess Twilight Sparkle calling THAT some of her best work!

She never really changed.

Same pony who loved running around with a clipboard during winter wrap up and used to live in a library.

Just the fact that this is Rarity’s THIRD boutique she’s opening! All those seasons watching her slowly build up her career in fashion bit by bit with the help and support of her friends, and here they are in Manehatten with her, doing their absolute best to make sure her dream keeps coming true!

Which only works because THEY are part of her dream! She’s woven each of them into her life and wants them all to stay there, as themselves, leaving their mark on the mark SHE is leaving on the world.

That's just. So good. Ugh.

and Rarity getting all teared up about it <3

Also these two background ponies gave me mild gender envy. Or maybe I'm just vibing with their exhausted silence and eyebags

I'll call this one.... Jumbleboxer, because the boxes they delivered were jumbled. Or maybe Doozy Delivery? Daisy Dropoff??

And...

... Sir Trois Serene

(who is most certain-THREE calm) (and maybe a bit acerbic) (and was originally named Citrus Serene by their mom Dreamy Tangerine before realizing that's a really common fruit name combo and not very marketable in the fashion world)

[mustelidsinlove]

The Isle of Ogygia by citrusses on AO3

There is an island, far out in the sea.

It’s useless to fight Potter. Isn’t that the lesson he’s refused to learn his entire life? // “Harry,” he says, as instructed, the word another link in the chain he’s binding himself with. // Potter comes back the next month, as reliable as the tides. Draco starves for him when he’s not there. // But Harry is also clearly a walking disaster and would apparently rather be kidnapped than face the mess he’s made of his life, so if Draco wants to spend the next four years eating Harry’s pancakes and fucking Harry until he can’t walk, he needs Harry to get his head right. // “There’s still a chance we could starve to death,” says Draco. “A bad enough storm could come in and–” “Then we’ll starve,” Harry says, smiling at him, and Draco gives up, because he’s finally learned his lesson about fighting Harry Potter.

A perfect little miracle of a story, almost fairytale-like in its rhythms, setting, and concision — though I don't know any fairytales featuring a protagonist quite as petulant, arseholey, or delightfully unfiltered (in the narration) as this Draco. Its real triumph might be the world-building, though, which is accomplished swiftly, elegantly, and uniquely — creating an expansion to the magic of the HP universe and portkeys that I will be thinking about for a long while. The dynamic is lovely as well: an easy relationship, that still honors the fact that these are two broken boys in need of saving. The smut is very good, too, as is the ust. 

Art:

(1) A Fisherman's Bedroom, Christen Dalsgaard, 1853

(2) Eddystone Lighthouse, Clarkson Frederick Stanfield, print made by W.B. Cooke, 1836

[template]

[jawsoffate]

Diabolically Yours | part IV (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water on the finals part).

💖 masterlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Part IV: Sugar, Spice, and Demonic Advice

The following days were a hands-on lesson in the dangers of mixing summoning rituals with poor attention to detail and badly translated PDFs.

Emma tried to live her life. Write, send résumés, buy bread. Human things. But nothing was exactly simple when you had a demon bound to you by a mystical tie – especially one only you could see.

Going out in public with Vessel had proven to be a daily exercise in self-control. He was there, all the time, walking beside her with that intense, impossible-to-ignore presence. It was like wearing perfume that was way too expensive: everyone thought it was you, but only you knew it came from somewhere else.

"You seriously have to leave the house in that outfit?" he asked as she adjusted her coat in the mirror.

"It's a normal outfit. Business casual. Job interview."

"Business casual? That thing screams ‘hire me, I’m miserable and willing to accept emotional compensation.’"

"It’s what I’ve got. And you’re not even supposed to care."

"I care about your image. We’re a pair now. If you embarrass yourself, I get dragged down too."

"Only I can see you!" Emma rolled her eyes and walked out the door. Vessel floated half a meter off the ground behind her just to be annoying, though no one else could see or hear him. To the outside world, Emma looked like a woman talking to herself in the middle of the street.

Which, naturally, drew stares.

"You should smile more," he whispered as she waited for the bus.

"Careful. That line has caused serial demon murders in feminist novels."

"I love danger."

On the bus, he sat beside her and started narrating the lives of the passengers in an overly dramatic voice:

"That one probably dropped out of philosophy school to open an iguana pet shop. The lady in blue... definitely a retired spy. And the guy with the earbuds? Addicted to true crime podcasts and secretly bakes cakes."

"Can you shut up?" she hissed as quietly as possible.

"I can. But I won’t."

Emma tried to ignore him. At the final stop, as she walked toward the publishing house where her interview would take place, Vessel bounced alongside her like a chatty, inconvenient shadow.

"You should introduce yourself like this: ‘Hi, I’m Emma, and I have an accidental pact with a demon who gives bad advice and hogs the couch.’ Shows personality."

"I’m going to shove you into my dirty sock drawer."

"Delightful. I’ve always wanted to know what accumulated shame smells like."

At reception, while she waited, he leaned close to her face.

"You’re nervous. Your heart rate’s up. Any specific reason, or should I cause a power outage so you can leave the interview dramatically?"

She pushed him – or tried to, since her hand passed right through his shoulder.

"Okay, okay… I won’t get in the way," he said, lounging against the wall. "But if you stutter, I’m making the phone ring and telling them your cat’s on fire. Now tell me that’s not an amazing excuse."

________________

After the interview – which turned out to be a smaller disaster than she expected, which already counted as a win – Emma suggested a strategic break. Nothing like a dose of caffeine to pretend life was under control. Vessel, of course, followed her to the coffee shop with the enthusiasm of someone heading into medieval torture.

“Human cafés. Where beans are burned and emotions are sweetened,” he commented, glancing around with theatrical disgust.

The place was charming, all dark wood and hanging potted plants. The scent of coffee and fresh-baked cake filled the air. Emma was just beginning to relax – until the barista, tall, curly-haired, with a smile that could warm iced coffee, approached the counter.

“Hey again,” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter and smiling straight at her. “Going with the usual? Hibiscus tea with lemon?”

“I am, thanks for remembering,” she replied, with a smile she tried to keep neutral – but it came out a bit sweeter than intended.

“And this time, no sugar. Or... okay, just one,” he winked.

“One it is,” she confirmed, blushing slightly.

Vessel, behind her, made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a barely restrained growl.

“Fascinating,” he muttered. “The power of the human smile. Amazing how your heart rate spikes just because of that.”

“Shut up,” Emma whispered, still wearing a sheepish grin.

The barista handed her the tea with a folded napkin on the side. In neat handwriting, it read: “For a great follow-up after your interview,” with a little star drawn next to it.

“You said you were nervous yesterday... hope it went well,” he smiled again, and Emma felt her face catch fire.

“Thank you. It was... less catastrophic than it could’ve been.”

As she walked away with her drink, Vessel floated alongside her in silence for a moment, until:

“You know that little crush on the barista is pointless, right?”

“He’s nice,” she replied, blowing on the tea and trying to hide her smile. “And he remembers my order.”

“He also writes notes. How romantic,” Vessel crossed his arms, hovering beside the table where she sat. “What’s next, singing to you?”

“Better than your poetic growls.”

“He used to put two sugar packets in your tea until last week. That’s basically a crime.”

“He smiles at me.”

“I smile at you too.”

“Yeah, but you don’t mean it.”

“Exactly,” Vessel said, resting his chin on his hand like he was bored – but his tone gave him away. “And yet, you blushed.”

Emma tried to hide her burning cheeks by dramatically sipping her tea – only for it to be too hot and burn her tongue. She let out a low groan, embarrassed, and Vessel stifled a laugh.

Before she could retort, the barista returned to the table with a small plate and an overly wide smile.

“On the house,” he said, placing a brownie in front of her. “Thought you deserved something sweet after a tough interview. And, well... sweet goes with sweet, right?”

Emma’s eyes widened for a second, surprised, then she gave a nervous laugh.

“Thanks... That was... really kind.”

“If you want to come back later and tell me how it went, I’ll be here,” he winked.

Vessel watched the exchange with a tight-lipped expression that looked suspiciously like disgust. When the barista walked away, he crossed his arms and muttered:

“‘Sweet goes with sweet’? Seriously? That worked on you?”

“Oh, shut up.” She bit into the brownie, trying to hide her smile. “It was cute.”

“It was mediocre. You deserve better flirting. Something with fire, mystery... a hint of danger.”

“Like what, you?”

He didn’t answer.

She laughed, shaking her head, and leaned her elbows on the table.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

“I don’t get jealous. Demons don’t have those weak human flaws.”

“Sure.”

He leaned dramatically back in the chair, trying to look completely uninterested – but his eyes didn’t leave the barista, who was now stacking cups with unnecessary enthusiasm.

Emma bit her lip to stop another laugh.

“I think I’ll come here more often.”

“So will I,” Vessel replied calmly, but with a sharp glint in his eye. “Just to make sure no one adds extra sugar to your tea.”

“It’s not like you have a choice, do you? Wherever I go, you go and all that…”

She took another sip of tea, still feeling the warmth in her cheeks. Maybe it was the drink.

Or maybe not.

[rosenclaws]

accidents || a sugar and spice drabble (Baker!Logan x Reader)

a/n: Here's just a cute little baker logan drabble <3 Its short and I kinda hate it BUT I wanted to get something out to you guys since I've been slacking the last couple of days.

wc: 1k

link to the og fic

"Bake at 350 for 20 minutes..." You glance down at your own messy handwriting, trying to see where you went wrong with these damn cupcakes. Logan has been giving you some private baking lessons at his house.

Yes you two did actually bake, among other things. But he did actually teach you some of his favorite recipes, including these cupcakes you swear are magical.

After a couple months of lessons you wanted to surprise Logan by showing him just how much you've improved. So you told him to come by your place after work and to not bring a thing but himself. But dinner was the last thing on your mind right now because of these damn cupcakes.

You glance at the clock, only 10 minutes before Logan was supposed to get here. Sighing you throw the recipe on the table. The frosting is made but the cupcakes are still watery in the middle. You wanted to frost them before he came by but there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

Maybe you could take them out of the oven and stick them in the fridge? Then distract Logan and frost them when he's not looking?

Ugh. What a disaster. You open the oven and reach over to stick a toothpick through the center. Suddenly a knock at the door makes you freeze.

Fuck. Logan was early.

"Hey sweetheart? Hope you don't mind but I got off work earlier than I thought. But I brought some pastries that didn't sell." You can hear the smile on his face. He never listens when you say not to bring anything now does he.

"One second!" You just need these out of the oven.

Take them out and let them cool. Without thinking you reach in to grab the tin. The very hot tin that has been in the oven at 350 degrees for 20 minutes. Not your smartest idea. The moment your hand gripped the tin you didn't register the pain and then it hit all at once.

"Fuck!" You yelp as you drop the tin on the ground. You grab your hand and run to the sink. Turning on the cold water and putting your hand under it.

"Is everything okay!?" You hear Logan ask. His voice filled with worry as he tries to open the door.

"Yeah! Just give me a second." You call back, trying to hide the pain in your voice. You take your hand out from under the faucet and try to stop yourself from crying. Just breathe.

This is so embarrassing. Sheepishly you walk over and open the door. Hiding your hand behind your back as you try and smile. Logan clocks something's wrong immediately. Your teary eyes give it away in a heartbeat. Worry over comes him as he pushes past the door.

"What happened?" He asks as he sets down the bag of pastries.

He looks over the counter and sees the spilled cupcakes on the ground and still running faucet. His face softening as he turns back to you. He can see the way you're trying to hide the pain. The way your lip quivers as you try to stay strong. But you don't have to be strong for Logan.

"Sweetheart, give me your hand." Reluctantly you bring your hand out from behind your back.

Logan takes it and gently looks at where you burned yourself. You sniff quietly as the pain really starts to get to you. You let the tears fall as he accidently brushes up against your skin. "Sorry, I'm so sorry." He quickly apologizes, one of his hands cupping your cheek to brush a few tears off your face.

"It's not too bad, do you have a first aid kit?" You wordlessly point to under your sink and gently takes you with him.

"Come here, don't cry you'll be okay." He lifts you onto the counter so you can sit while he rummages through the first aid kit. He pulls out some aloe vera and a bandage.

You wince as he squirts some aloe onto your hand. He gently massages it into. Trying his hardest not to hurt you further. Yet his rough hands are nothing but soft as they take care of you. His hands are so warm too. Slowly your tears stop as you let Logan fix you up.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you with dinner and cupcakes." You whisper. Logan glances up at you, wrapping the bandage around you firmly but not too tight.

"There's nothing to be sorry for sweetheart, I've burned myself countless times." He hums as he brings your hand to his lips. Kissing it softly.

"Feel better?" He asks with a small smirk. You think for a moment before shrugging.

"Maybe after a few more kisses." You mumble making Logan laugh.

"Alright, I think I can do that." He presses another few kiss to your hand, trailing his lips up until he's at your neck, and then your jaw until he finally reaches your lips. You let out a few soft giggles as his beard tickles your skin, making him smile.

"There's that perfect sound." He hums as he gently helps you off the counter.

He puts his arms under your legs and your back and scoops you up in his arms with ease. Carrying you to the couch and placing you onto the soft cushions.

"Do you want to order pizza?" He asks as you settle on the couch. Turning the TV on to some random crime show. Sighing you nod your head yes. Looks like your real dinner date will have to wait.

"You're a real quick learner, but maybe you should leave the baking to me." Logan teases with a wink. You roll your eyes and throw his arm over your shoulder, forcing him closer.

"Shut up old man." You bite back, huffing as he gently moves your arm out of the way so he doesn't hurt your hand.

"Aw don't be like that," He purrs, burying his face in your neck to pepper it with kisses. "I'm only joking, I'll be your first aid whenever you want."

"Would you be dressed as a hot nurse too?"

"Okay, now you're pushing your luck sweetheart."

[naga16]

Prompt 1: Red Hunter

(Before we begin, I'd like to say that I've been awake for no less than 20 hours... And it currently half hour before midnight.

Okay?Okay. )

The story begin in the watchtower. Impending doom via asteroids, aliens, gods, ghost, terrible disaster or whatever you wish. Point is, the world might as well die if they fail to find a way.

Generic cult shit and badabing badaboom!!!

GH! PHANTOM!!!! Here to save the day!!!

There's a catch though, of course there is.

Dunno 'bout the technical rules cuz I did no proper research. But turns out that certain people just needs to die to preserve the balance of the world.

Grim reapers cannot kill cause all they can do is wait for death and guide the soul in the afterlife. They don't kill, unlike the popular belief that they do.

So what does that mean? It means that King Danny assigned one of people who summoned him to be his Executioner.

Who does he choose?

Isn't it obvious?

He chose RED HOOD, of course.

Cuz Danny instinctively knew that this man is a dying revenant, starving cuz he's not fulfilling his NEED for revenge and all that shit that made him possess his own body.

So Jason was given a new name, Red Hunter, a remembrance of the good old days. He was also given a book, except for the first page, the book was practically blank.

The first page was a contract, that the person was bound for life to kill ANYONE who's name appears in the book. That the person will do the task dutifully.

Jason, being chosen, signed it since he really have no problem in killing. Truthfully, he was glad that the Big Bat or anyone else (exempt Tim and Damian) was not chosen since, unlike him, they have morals that kept them from taking lives.

So, he signed it, the book vanished with a flash, Danny smiled in victory, disaster avoided and one, two, three!!!

Jason was awoken by his Ghostly Butler. A guide to help him do his job. A person who can answer his question.

So ask he did...

First of, where did the book go? Inside Jason, a little lesson of summoning the book give him a magical transformation to his Executioner outfit.

Does he have a time limit? Yes, apparently, it's 24 hours, a very good news.

What would happen if he fail to kill by the given time? A punishment to his own person. Ghost will attack him for several hours, or just bother him.

How does he do the killing? Whatever he decide. Death by bullet, stabbing, planned accident, poison, arson, or beaten. Really, for as long as he kill the person, the way he would do it doesn't really matter.

Why does he have a Butler? Cause of a previous issue with the last executioner killing themselves with their guilt. The Butler system was made so that that can be prevented.

How would he find his target? A ghost will lead him to it.

What does that mean? You will know at your first mission.

So he kills, what next? You shall use your thermos.

What does that even mean? You will know at your first mission.

Really, why does he have a butler? To give guidance and answer.

So, when will I get my mission? Now.

What?

So Jason took the book and there, written in a fancy calligraphy, the civilian name of Joker. Or at least that is what the ghost of his younger self wearing his old Robin costume said to him.

[redxx95]

How Cherry Magic avoids romanticising self-sacrifice

Alright strap in boys, this is gonna be a long one.

Spoilers for the manga (mostly the english volumes but I will include a bit from vol 12. I'll mark it tho so yall may skip it if you don't want to be spoilered).

So in this one I want to examine how cherry magic does a great job at portraying self-sacrifice in a relationship as an actual flaw rather than a romantic ideal to aspire to. Very often you'll see characters in media putting their own needs aside for their lover. A lot of people will swoon at that because it is usually presented as proof of how dedicated they are to their partner and their wellbeing. (See... well the thai adaptation actually).

But what has pleasantly surprised me is how Toyota handles this in her manga.

Starting from the beginning, we all know the millions of things Kurosawa did for Adachi to get closer to him. After all, that is what's usually expected of him if we talk traditional gender roles. But one of the reasons Adachi even starts falling for Kurosawa is because of how he was for once able to do something for him.

For someone with very low self-esteem, being able to help this super-capable perfect man is a big boost in confidence and also raises his own selfworth.

So now let's look at a few instances of selfless action and the consequences resulting from them.

First one is the disaster-date in volume 4

Kurosawa does his very best to choose activities that he thinks Adachi will enjoy. That is his primary concern.

The effect this has on Adachi though is that the gap between them feels impossibly wide, only worsening his already low opinion of himself.

Whenever Kurosawa does something big, it makes Adachi feel that much smaller. That's why he'd rather them be equals in everything instead of one giving more than the other.

Next is the argument they have in volume 8

Kurosawa attempts to, very selflessly, protect Adachi from his lowkey homophobic parents. He doesn't want them and their opinions to hurt Adachi personally, so he ends up lying to him to keep the peace. The effect this has on Adachi though is disastrous. At first he's just generally worried about why Kurosawa would even lie to him in the first place, but then they have that fight in their living room and you really get a good look at how negatively this affects Adachi.

The very first conclusion he jumps to is that he's not doing good enough for Kurosawa to feel secure with him.

The next one is even worse, where he thinks he's not good enough in general. Both of these show how when pressed, he will default to blaming himself, believing that he is the problem first and foremost.

And then, if all of that wasn't bad enough, this happens next:

He's actually being self-deprecating again, something he hadn't done ever since Kurosawa told him not to in volume 5. And yes you can actually go back and check for yourself. Whenever he has negative thoughts after this point he's always pushing back.

So there's an escalation happening here, one that is entirely caused by Kurosawa not sharing his burdens with him, by making their relationship unequal.

I think it also hurts him extra bad because they've had this argument before, just with their roles switched.

So to him it must feel like Kurosawa is betraying the important lesson Adachi learned from that argument, which is that communicating with your partner is important, even when you feel like it might hurt them.

There's also something to be said about how most people would've probably stopped prodding when someone says "it's something I can't tell you", but Adachi knows that Kurosawa has a pattern of hiding his issues from him thanks to the mind reading, which is the whole reason they had that argument in vol 6 in the first place.

So, to summarize: Whenever Kurosawa acts selfless it takes a toll on Adachi's mental health. Because of his low self-esteem he needs to feel on equal terms with Kurosawa to be able to see himself as worthwhile. (And obviously he also loves Kurosawa and doesn't want to see him in pain just in general.)

So after all that, surely Kurosawa would have learned his lesson, right? Surely he wouldn't just do it again, right?

... Spoilers for volume 12 start here ✨

So volume 12 is all about Kurosawa overworking himself because he's been assigned this big project by their chief to oversee their company's spot at a stationery convention. (I didn't look up whether or not that's a real thing but it is in the manga universe I guess lmao.)

Adachi tries to help alleviate his burdens with mixed success.

(On the left he feeds Kurosawa because he needs to finish his work and doesn't have time to eat. On the right he tries to take a phonecall for Kurosawa but gets told that Kurosawa needs to hear it personally so relaying a message won't do.)

Then Adachi muses to himself how Kurosawa was always helping him out in the past and how Adachi can't do anything for him in return, especially since they're in different departments. He feels very useless, which is once again bad for his mental health.

Later at home, he offers to at least take over the chores for the time being, but gets told that Kurosawa actually enjoys doing chores so there's no need for him to help.

Kurosawa tells him that all he needs is Adachi to be close to him, while making out with him on the sofa. And right here we see how he only got half the lesson he was supposed to have learned in volume 8: In their fight Adachi told him that they should both be happy and he should share "all the hurt" with him, too. Well, the simple solution to that is not to see all his burdens as burdens, then he's not hurting and Adachi doesn't need to bother fussing over him! Win-win. Epic mind gymnastics 😎 (To be honest, I feel like this is actually very relatable to people that tend to give more than they take. We get so used to the weight of the burden that we don't notice it slowly pulling us down.)

So Adachi obviously notices what's going on and berates him about not having understood anything he said from that fight.

Throughout the volume Kurosawa gets more and more overworked, makes mistakes and is confronted with unexpected complications. He's very adamant about not asking anyone for help though, stating that he "can't be bothering his senpais any more than he already has" and that he's "doing this all for the sake of his future with Adachi".

He also still has some hangups about people seeing him as just a pretty face, as you can see in that flashback in the second page. He constantly feels the need to prove himself to others, which prevents him from ever seeking out help.

So when he inevitably reaches his limit, Adachi is finally able to be there for him, being the only one that sees through his facade.

(That hand kiss is so precious 😭)

Also, on that first page Adachi asks him whether or not he's fine, which reminds me of this panel from volume 6:

He really knows him so well.

Emboldened by his husband, Kurosawa finally does ask for help and is, of course, met with understanding and sympathy.

.

Spoilers for volume 12 end here ✨

So all this to say: Sometimes, when we try our best to be selfless and to protect the people close to us, we do more harm than good. Sometimes we cause harm to others (see volumes 4 and 8) and sometimes we cause harm to ourselves (see volume 12). It is of course a noble cause but it's not something to strive for at all times and can sometimes be actually counterproductive to what we wanted to achieve in the first place.

As someone who breaks themselves apart to help all the people around them, this aspect of the manga resonated very strongly with me and is probably the biggest reason I got so obsessed with this silly little BL romcom.

I know that this manga is not like, the best in quality. I know it's super niche and silly and cannot compare to the big popular mainstream manga with lots of depth and thought put into it, BUT.

A piece of art doesn't need to be "good" in order to resonate with people. You don't need to paint the mona lisa to reach someone and make them feel seen. You just need some sort of medium and a will to communicate something to the observer. (Something an AI could never replicate but that is a whole other discussion.)

This manga reached me when I needed it and it communicated a message that resonated with me and that is all it needed to do for me to love it to the point of obsession. 💖

Finally I'm done with this essay it is so long oh my god. If you reached the end of this, I'm so sorry. I hope you enjoyed it tho.